The Space Race for Vulcan
by manic-silhouette
Summary: Spock and Worra team up to help save Vulcan from the hands of an antagonist called the Hollow.


Space Race

By: Lisa Dorrington

As the stars flew past and their planets faded into the distance, time and space became jumbled. My space shuttle was a home; a one bedroom apartment without the front yard or annoying neighbors. I was separated from a normal lifestyle, confined to my small quarters with nothing but an ordinary potted Earth plant for company. Although I'd only been out for one month, my patience was running low and I found myself desperate for social contact, despite the fact that I considered myself a solitary creature.

It was only supposed to take a week to reach Leo but my warp drive had malfunctioned leaving me on impulse power at slightly less than warp one. Even though a one month space voyage wasn't considered long, traveling at this pace made for slow going. Even the closest planet for which I was now headed was still a day away, and I wasn't looking forward to landing there.

Vulcan is a red planet, quite similar to our own Mars. It boasts a barren landscape with a windy atmosphere and deserts full of rough sand. I'd only been there once before on a training mission in the Academy and it hadn't left an incredibly pleasant impression on my delicate skin. But that wasn't the reason I was dreading my arrival.

I sat at the main control panel of my ship, staring out at the vast space before me. Stars drifted steadily past and I watched the small blinking light on my sensor that indicated Halcyon's position. My tiny vessel was currently located in the area between Earth and Vulcan, considerably closer to the latter side.

It was quiet, only the ticking of my antique 21st century clock on the shuttle wall. I slowly gazed around the room, from the food replicator that supported my survival in the corner to the loft bed above the main force field window. A picture handing there next to the bed caught my eye, as it had so many times before. I saw that picture every day and night as my eyes opened and closed. Me - a young woman with blonde hair tucked underneath an astro-baseball cap - standing next to my friend of coming on twenty years. He was straight as a board with stiff arms to his side, a cropped haircut straight across his forehead, and slanted eyebrows. His black hair slightly covered the points of his ears. He was the real reason behind my reluctance to visit Vulcan.

Tearing my eyes away from the photo, I forced myself from the captain's chair and over to the replicator.

"Two thirty one," I murmured and punched in the corresponding numbers. The smell of spaghetti and marinara sauce filled the cabin. I watched the cheese melt into the sauce and went back to the chair to eat. I glanced down at the sensor. My ship still hadn't even passed the Zuron Nebula.

It was dark in my shuttle when I awoke the next morning. My clock informed me that it was ten-thirty AM Earth time. I laid for a few moments, trying to remember the dream I'd had. Something concerning this trip I was fairly certain. My locator beeped loudly from the board. I sat up and stretched. The sound pierced through my head and I rose to shut it off. The flashing beacon of my ship was in orbit of the maroon orb on the screen. I sighed and disabled the alarm.

My dresser was desperately lacking in Vulcan attire. I picked through my clothes for suitable garments; something that would shield me from the harsh winds and sun. All I could manage to find was a medium-length Earth jacket and work pants from my days in the Xenon dilithium mines. By the time I had dressed, Halcyon had already approached the main docking bay and I sat back at the control panel. Halcyon hummed as it waited.

"Halcyon to Vulcan Base 3. Vulcan Base 3, this is Halcyon waiting for approval," I said into the mike. Static greeted my ringing ears. I stared out the window at the red planet below. I wasn't expecting to see anything considering Halcyon was outside its atmosphere but the response , or lack of response, I'd received was unnerving. It was generally unheard of for Vulcans to delay their arrivals, especially during the appropriate visiting hours. They had set up certain times during the day for their meditation when they declined to permit the entrance of any outsiders. My clock alerted me that such hours had indeed already passed and that I should be approved.

A few moments of this uneasy silence passed when to my great relief a crackling voice came over the communicator.

"Halcyon, you are cleared."

"Vulcan Base 3, specify which dock," I replied. More silence. I sighed and chose an empty bay on the starboard side of their space station.

I wasn't sure what I expected to see inside, but everything appeared normal. Dozens of Vulcans were milling about, heading every which way. Halcyon hooked onto the metal-based port hatch and depressurized. I waited by the door, readjusting my clothes and taking another glance around my ship. For a second I felt a nearly overwhelming urge to crawl underneath my bed space and never come out. I repressed it and turned back to face the hatch.

It hissed and the door creaked open, swinging up the right like the doors of a classic Ferrari from 20th century Earth. I'd seen pictures of these ancient cars in a museum. The bright overhead lights glared into my ship and I was blinded. I rose my hand to shield my eyes until they adjusted, and there he was.

I'd never seen Spock in anything other than his Starfleet uniform, so this was the first thing I noticed as I stumbled down the ramp. He was dressed in the typical Vulcan style, with clothes suitable to the climate. The other thing I noticed was more surprising and I was vaguely amused that I'd seen it second. There was what could be considered a smirk on Earth, but a gaping grin for Vulcan on his face.

I approached him and he waited patiently for me at the bottom.

"Worra," he said, nodding, a hint of amusement in his voice. He did not greet me the usual Vulcan way, with a raised hand sign. That was typically used in greeting those of higher status, or Vulcan heritage.

"Spock," I said. He motioned for me to follow him and I complied.

He led me through a series of branching hallways, all bare and cold. The transporter room was located near the back of the space station and we entered the room quickly.

"Two to beam down to Vulcan," Spock said to the guard controlling the transporter. The Vulcan nodded and entered the coordinates. I stood on the indicated oval and felt the tingle of my atoms. I was oblivious to the inner workings of the technology but understood that it had something to do with the transportation of my molecules. Spock knew I'd never felt exactly safe with transporters and I could see him glance over to check on me. I remained still and stared straight ahead, watching our surroundings lose their white glare and gain an orange haze and later the dark brown of Vulcan earth.

Once the transformation was complete, Spock told me to follow him. We walked through the main center of their capitol city. There was something amiss and it took me a couple of seconds to place it. I hadn't been here for so long.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, staring around us at the desolate streets. Where there were normally hundreds of Vulcans strolling about, engaging in logical conversations and exchanges there were now only ca'thew'qas; the Vulcan equivalent to crows. They scavenged the remains of fruit stands and shops.

"They feel that it is in their best interest to avoid venturing outdoors. I agree with them," he replied.

I thought about that answer as we continued down the deserted pathway. I gazed at a dilapidated shop to my right that smelled of fresh qu'setha; similar to Earth strawberries but due to the climate here, they had developed a husky outer shell complete with rose thorns to ward off hungry critters inhabiting the neighboring dunes.

There were crates of these dried out husks piled around the outside of the shack, shielding its walls from view. Now that I looked around, nearly all of the Vulcan buildings and homes looked this same way; broken down and boarded up. It was like they were defending themselves from an impressive outside force.

I glanced over at Spock, another question on my lips but it evaporated when I saw the look he had. He was staring straight ahead of us, intent and fierce. Before us, maybe thirty meters, was a figure dressed in an uncharacteristic black cloak. His face was shrouded in the shade it cast. Spock stopped abruptly and turned away from it, heading swiftly in the opposite direction. Perplexed, I followed after him, practically running to maintain his pace. We ducked down an alleyway adorned with multicolored banners, strings, and mountains of old boots and laundry. I had to crawl through tight passageways formed in the clothes and miscellaneous garments. The buildings on either side deflected the blazing sun and I felt cold, despite the perspiration rolling down my forehead.

Once we reached the end of the walkway, Spock turned and crouched down in front of a dust-incased cellar hatch. He easily pried back the aged lock and shoved the door open. A musty smell erupted from the opening. I plugged my nose.

"There's no way I'm going in there," I said. He stared blankly at me, as if wondering why. "It smells awful."

"Here," he said and shrugged off his jacket, handing it to me. I used it in front of my face and it did an adequate job of smothering the odor. He advanced inside, swallowed up by the darkness. There were a couple reason why I didn't want to follow but the first and foremost was the fact that I was reluctant to be stuck that close to him as such a small cellar would ensure. But whoever that had been on the street was obviously enough to intimidate a Vulcan and that was enough to make me take one last look at the sun-filled sidewalk behind us and enter the darkened space. The door shut behind me.

It was cramped, that was for certain; about the size of my room on Halcyon. Spock sat with his elbows barely touching mine and that was as far apart as we could manage. He distracted me from this fact though when I asked who that figure had been. Although it was pitch black, I could imagine the face belonging to the monotone voice that answered.

"It seems that the answer to this question will also answer the one you were about to ask earlier. In relation to the wreckage of the various buildings we passed on the way in, it was all a result of the individual we saw just now. He is known here as the Hollow. Lately, he has made it known that he does not - how do you say it on Earth? - "come in peace," he explained.

"What exactly is he? Vulcan?" I asked. I hadn't gotten a clear enough look outside.

"Betazoid," he said with a tone that indicated slight surprise. "One of the least likely culprits for such acts. As you are most certainly aware, the Betazoids have always been a gentle race, content to adapt to whatever life they may encounter. Apparently one of them is not as accepting. He has destroyed numerous structures on Vulcan as well as disrupted the daily lives of many citizens."

It was quiet as I processed this. "How did he get here?"

Spock breathed out quickly. Was that a sigh? "Vulcan has been receiving warnings for several months now, telling of the destruction he has caused on other planets. Vulcan officials decided not to heed their advice and refused to lock down its ports. They said it would instill negative effects on our economic standards in relation to neighboring worlds."

"Why hasn't Starfleet been informed?"

He sounded sheepish. "Hollow has managed to jam all communications outside of 1000 kilometers of Vulcan. This was the reason you could not receive news from Vulcan Air Base. It was only after you entered the radius that your vessel was able to pick up our transmissions."

That made sense. Halcyon hadn't been able to connect to any outside communication until we were nearly inside the station.

"Well haven't the militia here been able to fend him off? With all of your _logic_, that shouldn't be too difficult, right?" I smirked. It was quiet for a few moments and I felt that I may have offended him. And they said Vulcans had no emotions.

"No, they have not. He is no normal Betazoid," he said matter of factly. "He has the uncanny ability to influence the minds of our people."

"Mind manipulation?" I was skeptic. I knew they had some telepathic abilities but nothing that extreme.

He raised an eyebrow. "So it would seem."

If a Betazoid could control the thoughts and actions of the military, then no one on Vulcan was safe. Could he influence anyone, even me or Spock? Maybe coming here wasn't going to be the emergency help that I'd expected. I was going to have to help _them_.

"Any plan of action?" I asked. "Or are we just going to sit down here forever?"

I felt him shrug in the darkness. "Whatever it takes to keep away from him. There is a facility not two miles from here that we may find shelter at, though."

I seized the opportunity and rose to my feet. My knees cracked and stretched. We'd been sitting for over an hour.

"Lead the way," I said. He got up from his crouched position on the floor and I let him guide me to the door. I wasn't sure if Vulcan eyesight was better than humans but he seemed to be perfectly content with the dark. I heard him open the latch and he slowly pushed the door.

The pink and yellow clouds of the sunset shone through the opening and I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. I climbed out of the cellar after Spock and gently shut the hatch behind me. There was no sign of any hooded figure.

"This way, Worra," he said and began to crawl back through the tunnels of clothes. I crouched in after him, a few feet behind.

"Did you make all this?" I asked. He nodded from ahead.

"It was the best makeshift shelter I could manage at the time."

It took a few minutes to make it through and he pulled me out at the end. The streets were still empty. Even the crow like birds were gone. A wrapper flew past on the wind. Spock surveyed the area and reached into the jacket I had given back to him. He took the tricorder inside and scanned for lifesigns.

"There are several signs inside that building," he said, pointing to the one to our left. "A couple more straight ahead, but they're Vulcan. No Betazoid on the scanner."

I peered over his shoulder at the tricorder and confirmed his results. One human amongst Vulcans and nothing else.

He motioned for me to follow him and started off along the western building, heading towards the sunset. I gazed up at it as we walked. It was unlike Earth's. Due to the color contrast of Vulcan, the sky was strikingly more red and orange than the purples and blues seen at home. There was complete silence except for our footsteps. I couldn't help but glance around to make sure no one was behind us. Not that it would make much a difference if Hollow could just tell our bodies to stop. I wondered how far his telepathy could reach.

"Spock, is Hollow able to control your mind?" I asked. He continued walking, not looking at me.

"Yes, I suppose he can control anyone's thought processes. Or at least, no one has been able to stop him so far. In fact, interviews with victims after the fact have concluded that while under his control, the individual is completely unaware of what is going on. It is quite like one of your dreams, I should think," he explained.


End file.
